He watches me, when it is convenient for his mind. His word play is amateur, but his vibes scream they need a nurturer. I wonder in his darkness. I call his name. I sweetly begin to play his game. I abandoned myself. He calls me what he wants and he calls me when he needs; pleasure seems to be all I can give in these sheets. I am not hurting until his hurting finds me. I roamed upon his glass crystal. I saw all the sights I could see; all the suppressed memories. He seems to be a lot like me; like I was, before transmuting become a favorite pastime. Now I am past mine. Past the humps I piled up. Only to be caught in a maze. For a man who is hazed on the truth of the role I play. To my dismay, I did not help when I played his game. I made it worse. I added to the hurst. A grey area the waves cannot seem to wash away. I let him win this games of his, cause, in the end, I could never win. Winning puts me above. How could I rise above when I find myself below him?
xoxox, the broken-hearted